The Golden Afternoon
by TASHAx
Summary: Draco Malfoy really hated his birthday. Since turning 17 he couldn't think of a reason to celebrate his being here on the earth but, perhaps, this year would be different.


**The Golden Afternoon**

 _You can learn a lot of things from the flowers_

 _For especially in the month of June_

 _There's a wealth of happiness and romance_

 _The golden afternoon..!_

— _Alice in Wonderland_

Draco Malfoy _really_ hated his birthday.

As far as he was concerned the fifth day of June could evaporate from the calendar entirely and he'd live a much happier life.

It hadn't always been this way, of course. When he'd been young there had been presents, balloons, parties, elaborate cakes and big fat toffees for breakfast. His mum had always organised the best of days with friends and family and, usually, Quidditch matches. His father had taken him to Diagon Alley to pick out racing brooms and transfer a big sums of gleaming gold galleons into Draco's savings account.

He'd always felt special, entitled, and thought that the birthday treats were exactly what was required to celebrate his coming into the world.

And then he turned seventeen and the whole thing changed. This was the year he was supposed to be considered a man but, instead, he found himself almost cracking beneath an almighty pressure to kill one of the greatest wizards alive in order to save his family.

Just two weeks before his birthday he came close to being fatally injured in a duel with Harry Potter.

What's more, he was frustratingly close yet cataclysmically far from fixing the vanishing cabinets so he'd spent the fifth of June sobbing in the Room of Requirement and genuinely considering running away. Running from Hogwarts, from Voldemort, from being Draco Malfoy.

If it weren't for the fact he knew his mother would face the consequences if he had absconded from his task, he probably would have made moves to get as far away as was humanly possible.

That year, in fit of self-pity and loathing, he wished he had never been born. Wished that there was no day to celebrate Draco Malfoy.

The following year the Battle of Hogwarts occurred the month before he was due to turn eighteen and he was thankful for his parents being too preoccupied to even really notice. He was ashamed of how he'd acted that day. Ashamed that he'd tried to stop Harry Potter succeeding, had almost hindered him taking down Voldemort — a man Draco feared and hated and no longer wanted to follow — because of old childish feuds. Because of a brattish kind of hate. One that spoke of jealousy and bitterness; one that started because Harry had snubbed him, because he preferred the blood traitor Weasleys, because he was famous, because he was a better Seeker.

Once again he had found himself not grateful to have survived but thinking that if he'd not been there at all everything would have been better.

Now, three years on from the Battle of Hogwarts, he was no longer filled such intense hatred for himself but still couldn't really bear the thought of having a party, or birthday drinks with friends. Birthdays were there to look back on where you'd come from and where you were going next: Draco wanted to forget about his past and didn't have the optimism to try and conjure a brighter future.

Usually he would nip in to see his mother and have a cup of tea or pass a quiet evening in Malfoy Manor, to appease her, but that was it. The next day he'd wake up and sweep the little pile of cards he'd received into the bin. Appreciating that people were still trying to reach out to him, despite his hermit-like attitude these days, but not wanting the cards cluttering up his mantelpiece for the next seven days, mocking him and reminding him.

This year Narcissa was spending a few weeks in Italy with Lucius, who now lived there almost permanently in their summer home, but Draco had refused to join her. They would have a belated celebration, he had promised, go out somewhere lovely and really treat themselves. He wasn't entirely sure she'd hold him to the promise.

His relationship with his father was more complicated than ever. He was angry at him, and full of shame for him. He loved him but he hated the weakness he'd seen in his father and wanted so badly to not follow in the footsteps he'd once desperately coveted.

There was no power in the Malfoy name anymore: No fear, no respect, not even any real interest from anyone.

He had rejected the strict, prejudiced pureblood ideals privately and was trying to grow. Trying to be braver and bolder and better. Most days though, he just went in search of peace and perhaps a glass of wine. He was currently living off the vast Malfoy fortune, wondering what on earth he would end up doing, hoping to find a vocation that stuck.

He'd never dreamed of a future which didn't include mimicking Lucius Malfoy's and now was almost too scared to move into the unknown. He knew he was stagnating but the fear of not knowing what was next, or how he would be received by the world at large, kept him hidden.

The UK seemed to be in the middle of a slightly oppressive heatwave - something the British, magic or otherwise, never seemed to cope well with - which drove Draco out of his London flat in search of fresh air and open spaces. Sometimes he marveled that he was able to live in London at all; the noise, the people, the hustle and bustle. He had thought he may find it stressful but somehow seemed to enjoy the anonymity of a city that didn't really care too much.

Selecting a pair of light linen trousers and an oversized shirt, Draco dressed for the day. He brushed his teeth, taking in his reflection and the close buzz cut he'd recently acquired. Despite looking more like his mother's side of the family, Draco had wanted to remove all resemblance to his father that he could and that meant saying goodbye to his long blond hair. It suited him, he thought. Pansy had laughed and Blaise had been surprised but both understood his decision and kept the jokes to a minimum (at least to his face).

Wanting to find a new book, and perhaps take in a leisurely late breakfast, Draco thought initially he may go to Diagon Alley but rejected the idea almost immediately. It would be busy, full of people wanting ice creams and iced pumpkin juices in the sun. Instead he thought of Hogsmede when he closed his eyes and disapparated. Seconds later he stood in the little wizarding village which was mercifully quiet. The crooked streets and crumbly buildings gave him an enormous sense of comfort. He loved the age of the magic here, was certain he could even _smell_ it in certain spots.

He had apparated himself to a spot which was in front of a riot of colourful blooms. The flower cart was so overflowing with flowers he was certain it was requiring numerous charms to ensure it didn't collapse entirely.

It was a recent addition to the village, as far as he knew, because he didn't recall ever seeing this there before.

"That'll be four sickles, please."

Money must have been exchanged as moments later Draco saw a squat witch tottering back down the road clutching an enormous bouquet of pink lilies.

He leaned his face into some yellow roses and took in a giant breath, catching their light scent. It reminded him of home; the rose gardens had been so beautifully in bloom by the time his birthday came. The thought caused a stab of sadness somewhere inside of him; childhood innocence, running amongst the gardens, his mother setting up a treasure hunt with his presents, him and his father almost decapitating Narcissa's favourite rose bush.

"Yellow roses are for joy and delight," a lovely, throaty voice announced.

Draco straightened and found himself staring at the youngest Weasley sibling.

She was tall - almost the same height as him - and willowy with long lithe legs. She wore a white t-shirt and denim shorts. Her hair was bright red, long and wavy and barely contained by a quill she'd knotted into it in desperation to keep it off her neck in the heat.

"Malfoy?"

He sighed, already mentally arming himself for anger or disappointment, but there was no sneer on her face, no mistrust in her eyes, just genuine surprise.

"That's right, Weasley" silence and then "I think you may have been the last person I expected to bump into today."

She smiled and shrugged.

"Didn't really expect to see you either. What brings you to Hogsmede?"

He hadn't seen her for at least two years when he'd watched her with her brothers clearing out Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He'd heard that George Weasley, the surviving twin, hadn't really been able to continue without his brother. They'd all seemed so hollow that day, dismantling signs and packing up boxes of skiving snack boxes. He remembered the haunted look in their eyes. The shadows of deep, deep loss across every face.

She didn't seem burdened by those shadows today. She seemed to emanate light and warmth. How had she done that? How had she grown beyond that kind of grief?

He didn't know what made him tell her but before he could stop himself he said, "it's my birthday today."

"Ah, that's funny, roses are the birthday flowers for June."

"Is that so?" he took a measured step away from the yellow flowers.

More silence.

"Are you meeting friends?"

"No."

It felt a little awkward. They'd never really exchanged words — childish, angry, pleasant or otherwise. He hadn't really thought about her before. Of course, he'd noticed her following Harry Potter about, noticed when she'd grown into a woman - most boys couldn't help but talk about her -and noticed when she'd started playing Quidditch for Gryffindor with enviable skill.

But he didn't know her, nor she him. He assumed she probably disliked him based on her brother's disdain for him. And for all the things he'd been a part of during the war.

Ginny wasn't really sure what to say next. He was very closed, very guarded. She almost hadn't recognised him with his hair so short. He looked a lot different from when she'd last seen him in that final year of Hogwarts. How she'd hated him, running around with the Carrows and bullying everyone she was wanting to protect.

She hadn't returned to school after the war. She studied at home and took NEWTs in a test centre run by the ministry for students who hadn't been able to fully complete their studies. She couldn't quite bring herself to walk those halls, to sit in rooms where she and friends had been subjected to torture and pain.

She bought herself back to the moment and the man stood before her.

He had filled out, his shoulders were broader, his face had lost its pinched expression.

She had heard he was living an almost reclusive life now. Didn't seem to be working, or at least not at the ministry, and didn't seem to be involved with many of the wizarding families anymore.

She plucked a yellow rose from the bucket and offered it to him.

"Happy Birthday, Malfoy. Hope you have a good day."

Polite but a definite ending to their conversation.

Ginny had watched as anger and resentment had chipped away at so many of her peers. She had decided to not allow that to happen to her. Her losses, her former battles and the past would serve as a warning but wouldn't dictate how she'd treat people. Draco had a been a child, it had been a roll of the dice that made him a Malfoy and her a Weasley. She hoped he had changed, had learnt from his behaviour, but if he hadn't she wasn't prepared to carry any hate around in her heart anymore. If Harry could recover as well as he had. If he could still laugh and joke and forgive, so could she.

They weren't together anymore but he was her friend and he did inspire her to live better.

Another customer had appeared and she bustled off to see to them, quite relieved to walk away from the slightly awkward encounter.

Clutching the rose, Draco turned away and took off down the road towards the shops.

Seeing her had unnerved him a little.

He hadn't expected to bump into anyone he knew. Furthermore, he hadn't expected to have been quite so tongue-tied by messy red hair and kind eyes.

He felt a little prickle of an old jealousy. Envy of Harry Potter. He got to be brave, to be the hero, and to have Ginny Weasley. A flurry of long legs, freckles and flowers. She had seemed so gentle and open that he had wanted to linger beside her all day in hope he'd catch some of her light.

Perhaps it was just the day, or the long-felt loneliness finally taking effect, but she had really bowled him over.

He'd been surprised to see her but, what's more, he was surprised that he'd really _seen_ her.

Mostly he felt like he floated a bit through life now. He saw few people, integrated himself less and less, and generally lived a fairly solitary existence.

He ran his hand over his shorn locks and picked up his pace heading towards the bookshop. He needed to stop brooding so much, it didn't help anything. He knew he wasn't helping himself, Blaise said it frequently enough, but it seemed difficult to simultaneously want to punish and improve yourself without spending too much time in your own mind. Playing back the past, trying to imagine the future and totally missing out on the present.

—

By the time lunchtime approached, Draco seemed to have somewhat shook off his introspective mood. His shopping expedition almost made him forget about his birthday (he'd acquired three new books) and he'd bumped into Daphne Greengrass who was so unexpectedly amusing that he couldn't help but feel slightly cheered after walking away from her. Perhaps today wouldn't be too awful after all.

He sat at a table outside a little deli that had popped up in the last year or so. It was run by Justin Finch-Fletchley and his wife; they did the best sandwiches Draco had ever had. Justin had moved to Greece during the war, in order to escape persecution as he was Muggle-born, but had returned with a beautiful wife and made his home here in Hogsmede, once again feeling safe to be a part of the Wizarding community.

Draco was tucking into his chicken and basil ciabatta when he spotted her. Her arms were laden with eucalyptus branches - beautiful long stems covered in pale green leaves - and she was making her way towards him. Or rather, to the deli.

He watched her slightly ungainly footsteps as she struggled to see properly over the foliage. She really was quite beautiful in an otherworldly kind of way. Perhaps it was because he'd only seen her recently when surrounded by flowers, or perhaps it was the way she seemed both delicate and dangerous all at once, but there was something of the fae folk about Ginevra Weasley.

"Lydia!' Ginny called. "I come bearing leaves!"

Every week Ginny delivered an abundance of eucalyptus to Lydia and Justin who decorated their little deli with it; stems on every table and then a particularly large bunch in the window sill.

The olive-skinned, dark haired woman came dashing out whilst drying her hands on her apron to help Ginny carry everything inside.

"You should tell me what time you're coming over and one of us will meet you and help you carry it all! It's silly to carry it all yourself!"

Draco could hear Ginny being scolded.

"Ginny, let me get your money and some lunch —"

"You really don't — "

"I know we don't _have_ to, I want to. We have some beautiful olives, just brought in this morning, you'll love them."

Ginny sighed. It was never any good trying to dissuade Lydia once she was in her stride. She loved to feed her up, insisting it was no good to see her looking so slim (little did she know Ginny ate enough to fill even Ron up). She'd give Mrs Weasley a run for her money for the amount of food she tried to feed people. The redhead strolled out to the front of the shop whilst she waited for her meal to be prepared. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, enjoying the heat on her face.

Feeling a gaze upon her, Ginny opened her eyes once more and, for the second time that day, found herself looking at Draco Malfoy. He was wearing her rose in the pocket of his shirt.

"Take a picture, Malfoy," she jibed, but with no real annoyance.

He smirked at her. He'd quite like to snap a picture of her, actually, basking in the heat of the sun with a film of perspiration across her skin.

Lydia appeared with a brown bag, a large iced coffee and a pouch of money. She pressed them into Ginny's hands before thanking her again and rushing off to see to a customer who was desperately trying to get her attention.

Draco kicked the chair on the opposite side of the table out. He hadn't really meant to act on his wayward thought of how nice it might be to sit and have lunch with her.

"Why don't you join me? Is someone looking after your flowers for you?"

She arched her eyebrow at him but eventually took the seat. After a gulp of the coffee she replied, "nah, I just pop a charm over the stall whilst I'm away. Not that I'm too worried about anyone trying anything here."

There was a couple of minutes of silence whilst Ginny unpacked her lunch and started to nibble on one of the aforementioned olives. Salty and lemony flavours washed over her tongue. Delicious.

"How did you end up working with flowers, Weasley? Seems a bit…random."

"I sort of fell into it really. After - after the war I didn't really want to leave the safety of the Burrow for a while so I started growing flowers in the field close to our house."

She paused, expecting him to roll his eyes or say something distasteful about her family home but he just took a sip of his lemonade and fixed his eyes on her expectantly.

"I like flowers. They're something that can be enhanced by magic but don't need to be. They just have to be nurtured and shown some attention and then they thrive all by themselves. And, of course, they carry their own kinds of magic and special meanings."

Draco absentmindedly touched the rose. _Joy and delight._

He did feel somewhat lighter since wearing the bloom. Although he wasn't entirely sure if that kind of symbolism magic – folklore – was really that strong.

She smiled, almost sensing his thought pattern, Ginny hadn't known that's what he'd needed, in fact, he'd been drawn to those all by himself and she'd just helped the process along a little.

"How's the birthday coming along? Do you have any plans this evening?"

His face darkened a little, "no. I, er, I don't really like my birthday. Not anymore. My mother is in Italy so I'll probably just have a quiet night in."

"No party? No _pub_ even?"

Her incredulous expression almost made him laugh. It was the sign a woman who'd known an awful lot of love and friendship in her life, when she couldn't comprehend that he wouldn't want to be with his nearest and dearest on a day like today.

"Nope, nothing. Maybe a nice gin and tonic on my balcony."

 _More like maybe five or six neat gins and passing out on my sofa._

She continued to eat, watching him.

"How have you been the past few years? Your father lives in Italy permanently now doesn't he?"

"It's been fucking awful, actually. And, yes, he does. Your boyfriend keeping an eye on him?" he felt himself turn icy. He hated that everyone knew bloody everything in the Wizarding world. Particularly if you had the privilege of being Potter's girlfriend and Arthur Weasley's daughter.

She blinked, bemused by his sudden change of tone. If anything, Ginny was the one who should have had an issue with the mention of Lucius Malfoy, not his own son. She wanted to rebuke him but instead all that came out was "I don't have a boyfriend."

He was surprised but said nothing.

"I just remember talking to Blaise Zabini a year or so ago and he mentioned wanting to take a trip over to Italy and would probably check in on the Malfoy's whilst he was there. He just made it sound like they were making their home there, that's all."

He softened.

"Sorry; an old habit I'm trying to break."

An apology? Had hell frozen over?

More silence.

"So, what happened to you and Potter? Everyone thought you guys would be the Wizarding world's sweethearts by now."

"You want to gossip about my love life?"

"Just…asking."

"It wasn't quite right after everything. No one was quite right for a while. Once we all put the pieces of ourselves back together we were all a little different."

Draco nodded his understanding.

"I think you just articulated something I've been feeling for a little while. I've thrown all the pieces out the box, I'm just trying to figure out how they go back in."

She was slightly impressed by his candidness. His ability, and want, to talk to her so openly.

Draco, however, was wondering what, in the name of Merlin, had made him say so much to her. To this girl he had never really known and to whom he'd only spent minutes with today.

"You'll get there. If you want to." she took the last sip of her coffee. "I should get back to the stall. Have a good afternoon. You should do something tonight, you should celebrate your birthday. It's important we celebrate everything good we have come our way now."

And before he could respond she'd popped her head through the door to the deli to shout goodbye and whizzed off up the road.

—

It was nearing 6PM and Draco had been back in his flat for the past hour or so. He'd placed the rose Ginny had given him in a tumbler of water and it currently resided on his window sill; the bright yellow was slightly startling in a room that was mostly made up of bright whites and dark mahogany.

He was nursing a large measure of Old Ogden's, the weight of the world seemingly on top of him again.

Draco had always taken pride in knowing exactly who he was, in knowing how a Malfoy was supposed to live his life. He had never anticipated reinvention. Didn't even consider the option that he would be forced to unlearn so much about how he thought about the world, his family and himself.

An owl was tapping away at the window.

"No more bloody birthday cards."

Draco stuck his middle finger up at the bird and took a sizeable sip of the whisky.

 _Tap._

 _Tap._

 _Tap._

 _Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Stubborn little bastard aren't you?" he grunted. Grudgingly he walked across to the window and let the little snowy owl into the room.

It seemed to snap at him with a touch more force than was necessary as he relieved it of its message.

 _Malfoy._

 _I don't know why I'm writing to you but I suspect you're going to go home and brood this evening._

 _No one should be alone on their birthday. Let's go for a drink at The Three Broomsticks._

 _Ginny._

He read the message through a few more times.

Ginny. Ginny Weasley.

Was he really exchanging pleasantries with a Weasley?

Part of him wanted to say yes immediately, another part screamed at him to rebuke her and something else just wanted him to return to the glass of alcohol, slide down into his chair and fall asleep in one of his new books.

The something else won out. He pushed the bird out of the window, shutting it out without its desired response and crumpled the note. He refilled his glass with an indecently large measure and sat himself back in his favourite chair.

There was something niggling at him — guilt or anticipation, he wasn't quite sure. He drank deeply from his glass to silence it.

He wasn't prepared to spend this evening with his own friends let alone Ginny Weasley. No matter how wonderful she'd looked this morning, or how empathetic and wise she seemed whilst nibbling her olives.

He couldn't understand why she was bothering to communicate with him. Why she was thinking about him and inviting him out for drinks? He didn't need her pity; he wasn't even asking to be helped.

—

Ginny frowned as she saw Margot, her owl, return empty-handed. She has specifically asked her to wait until he replied, instructed her to peck at him should he refuse, and here she was with nothing to show for herself.

"You're no good, are you? And I suppose you'll still be expecting treats. Little madam."

She filled the owl's bowl with a few of her favourite bits and left her to get stuck in.

Ginny lived in a little cottage in the Cotswolds, close to Oxford. It was beautiful and peaceful and surrounded by fields and woodland. It felt old and full of magic; she loved it here.

She went to the kitchen, possibly her favourite room in the whole building due to the lovely terracotta flooring and old fashioned, range oven. She poured herself a large glass of white wine and sat down on the steps which led from her back door to the garden. Her backdoor was almost always open if she was at home, she liked the feel the fresh air even in the dead of winter.

She could feel her muscles aching. Ginny tried to do as much as possible without magic when it came to her business. She liked the feeling she got after a day of standing on her feet, of tending to her flower fields, of waking early and attending the London flower markets to ensure she managed to get the best of everything.

She liked how tired and satisfied she could feel at the end of a long day. She remembered the first day she'd seen to the field close to the Burrow — how she'd turned the earth, planted her seeds, watered the soil. She slept all through the night for the first time since before the war.

It felt good to have a purpose, to have a passion.

Stupid Malfoy. Who was he to snub her invitation? _He_ was the social pariah here. He was the one people didn't know how to approach these days. She hadn't mentioned it to him earlier but Harry was keeping an eye on him. Of course he was.

They knew Malfoy was essentially harmless now but…she'd seen something a little more today. Something that spoke of a man in crisis and a man who was trying to be something more than just the mistakes of his father.

She swigged down her wine and felt her head grow a little fuzzy. She refilled the glass on her way back through the house.

"He may be able to ignore you, Margot" she told her twittering owl, "but I'm Molly Weasley's daughter and no one ignores me!"

She dashed upstairs to shower and change.

—

Thirty minutes later, Draco was feeling pleasantly on his way to inebriated when a sharp knock on his door caused him to have minor heart failure.

 _Who the devil would be hammering his door down at this ungodly hour of…7.42PM…_

Pulling himself up, Draco resigned himself to having to answer the door. It really was too early to pretend he was sleeping. Not even Blaise would believe that Draco Malfoy, total shut-in and all around recluse, would be snoozing before 8PM.

He yanked open the door.

"Yes? Oh!"

The redhead who had been confusedly running through his mind only minutes before was stood before him. Her long hair was free of it's quill now and spilled around her shoulders like glorious flames. She was wearing a simple, strappy black dress that stopped just above the ankle and skimmed over slim frame. Her feet were in sandals and he saw her toes were adorned in gold rings.

"You could have at least replied with a _no_ , Malfoy."

"Er—"

He supposed he could have said _something_ at the very least.

"How do you know where I lived?"

"I'm a Weasley; I have my ways."

She had, in fact, only had to ask Luna Lovegood who had an unhealthy amount of knowledge about everyone since becoming editor of _The Quibbler._

She glared at him. Here was the fire he remembered hearing about. The infamous Weasley temper apparently ran through every single one of them.

"So? Are you going to invite me in?"

He stepped aside and, as she brushed past him, he smelt her woody, exotic perfume.

Ginny stood in Draco's living room, taking stock of his home. She spotted her rose and smiled a satisfied smile; he really can't be all that bad.

"I should have written back to you. I just really, really don't feel like drinking on my birthday."

She raised her eyebrow and pointed at his crystal glass and the bottle of whisky.

"…I didn't feel like going out and drinking on my birthday."

"Merlin, Malfoy, you can't live your life like Dracula cooped up in your castle on a hill."

He narrowed his eyes, "did you just come here to scrutinise my interior decoration and compare me to the undead?"

"Maybe. Well, the former for sure but the latter just occurred to me. You _are_ pale enough to be a vampire though. If I hadn't seen you out in the sun myself I would never have believed you were still one hundred percent mortal."

He shook his head incredulously.

"You're mad."

A mischievous light seemed to shine through her eyes, "it's definitely been said before."

"And not for the last time, I'd imagine."

Her smile died a little. A seriousness falling into her expression.

"Do you want me to leave you alone? We really don't know each other at all and you seem to be going through some stuff…I should have just let you be."

"No…no. Don't leave. You're here now. Would you like a drink?"

She nodded and followed him to the kitchen. It was all chrome and white tiles. Clinical and modern; the complete opposite of her higgledy piggledy little home.

"Wine? Whisky? G and T?"

"Wine, please. White if you have it."

He produced a bottle of particularly expensive looking wine from his fridge, found two exquisite balloon-like wine glasses and filled them with the almost clear liquid.

She touched his fingertips as she took the glass from his hand and felt a little excitement zap through her and pool in her stomach.

"Cheers, Malfoy" she tilted her wine towards him and he brought his glass up to meet hers.

 _Clink._

Without being invited, Ginny made her way out onto the balcony that led from Draco's kitchen. He had an excellent view of the river Thames. It was nearing sunset and Ginny could see that London was still alive with tourists and commuters. The pubs close to Borough Market were so full of people that they were spilling out into the streets and mingling together, laughing and chatting and enjoying the summery evening.

"You have a great spot here, Malfoy."

"Thanks."

There was a lull in conversation as they sipped their wine and watched the city unwind after a day of work. It wasn't awkward like this morning, however, there was some sort of comfort in it.

"I haven't spent my birthday with anyone except my mother for four years. Thanks for being stubborn, Weasley, it's actually been oddly nice having you around today."

She smiled into her glass. Her skin seemed to flush with the heat of anticipation, of excitement.

—

By the time sunset arrived, an hour so later, they'd almost finished the bottle and both were feeling pleasantly tipsy. In fact, Ginny was well on her way to being drunk.

"This is funny, isn't it?"

She looked really beautiful sat there on the floor of his balcony; slightly undone and rumpled. Her eyes glassy with the effect of the wine.

"It is definitely…unexpected."

But not unwelcome, he mused.

The sky was burnished bright gold. It made her hair look as though it were aflame.

He joined her on the floor and they sat so close together that her bare arm was just millimetres away from his. He could feel a charged current racing up and down his skin.

Ginny didn't believe in love at first sight, or even that you could fall for someone over the course of a few scattered conversations in a day. She did, however, believe in attraction. In suddenly seeing someone properly for the first time and them having such a magnetic effect of you that it was almost impossible not to want to be drawn into their world.

He was a handsome, flawed, deeply confused and somewhat unhappy human being but there were little moments of greatness there somewhere. She could see them. It was like peering through the cracks of a broken window to see the sunlight.

"What're you thinking about, Weasley?"

"Just…you actually" she thought about lying but why bother? It wasn't so strange that she would be thinking about him as they sat together soaking up the golden evening. Two relative strangers, side by side.

"Why is it that I've spent so long feeling like a monster but being around you just makes me feel like a man again?"

She turned and sat on her knees, facing him, watching him.

"You _are_ a man, Draco. You aren't one of the nasties that go bump in the night. Not if you don't want to be. You're just a slightly broken man trying to find his place in the world."

He reached out and brushed her hair back from her face. She couldn't seem to help but close her eyes and lean in to the touch.

His hand dropped away as if he suddenly came to his senses.

He felt slow and vulnerable, his guard lowered by inebriation. It wasn't normal to have a day like today; not for him or anyone, really. You aren't supposed to bump into the sister of one of your childhood rivals and end up in a wine stupor with her. You aren't supposed to be so candid and blunt with a woman who had always walked such a different path to yourself.

She felt him trying to withdraw. Could almost physically see him running to hide away again. She wouldn't let him. Tomorrow they could go back to being strangers, if he wanted, but tonight she wasn't going to let him shrink back into his shell.

Ginny took Draco's hand in hers and kissed his knuckles. Her lips felt plump and soft and forbidden.

It felt like a pleasure he hadn't hoped to want or to seek ever again.

Her heart was pounding so loud she was certain Draco would hear it hammering against her ribcage. She felt like she was sixteen again. No, that wasn't right, she felt more alive and in control than she had then.

Both felt themselves standing on the precipice of something vast and were staring into one another's eyes feeling like they were afraid to blink just in case the other disappeared.

 _Act, Draco, move. Don't let the moment pass. Do something._

He closed the space between them and kissed the corner of her mouth. She smiled against his lips. He smelt of wine and cologne. His face was scratchy with stubble.

"I can't stay," she murmured.

He froze a little, afraid he'd pushed too far. Misread her.

"I'm sorry, of course –" he stood up quickly, running his hand over his short hair. He looked embarrassed.

"I'm not leaving yet…I just can't stay the night. I have an early breakfast with my mum."

She stood up to face him, her head feeling light and her feet slightly numb, and led him back into the flat. Once in the living room Ginny kissed him. This time it felt ferocious, it almost burnt him with desire. Stepping a few paces away from him, she pulled her dress over her head and let it drop to the floor beside her.

She hadn't been wearing a bra, just a small pair of yellow knickers. Her body looked beautiful, pale and freckled, in the dying sunlight.

His mouth felt dry as he took the image of her in. That thought he'd had earlier, of her being more fae than witch, came to mind once more. There was something of the old magic about Ginny Weasley.

"Happy Birthday, Draco."

She left in the small hours of the night. They had drunk a bottle of champagne in his bed. They had talked and fucked for hours. He felt tired and alive all at once.

There had been no promises uttered, no false hopes whispered, but they had said they would meet again in a couple of days. For coffee. For a conversation. A chance to figure out if it had just been the madness of a hot June day or if there was something a little more in the mix.

Draco couldn't wait to see her again. He couldn't wait to start living more again. He had to stop being so afraid of recommitting the sins of his past. He couldn't stop living for fear he was going to live his life wrong.

He wandered back through his flat with a glass of water in hand – the hangover he was going to feel tomorrow morning would not be pleasant – and plucked up the rose from the glass on his windowsill.

He lay it down on his bedside table and turned off the lamp before getting into bed. He could smell her woody perfume and the light, floral, scent of the rose in the air as he fell asleep.

Draco Malfoy wasn't sure he hated his birthday anymore.

—

 **A/N;** Well, it's been over a year since the fic exchange that I wrote this one for happened. Thought it was about time I rewrote a few bits and got it flowing how I had wanted it to.

It was written for Jessica in the DG Forum's 2017 Fic Exchange. We've just completed the 2018 exchange too so there's plenty of fresh D/G fiction out there.

—

Jessica's Prompt 1

Basic premise: "I know that I'm a monster, but you treat me like a man." -Spike, Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Must haves: Broody!Draco, Stubborn!Ginny.

No-no's: Non-con. NO NICKNAMES: no Ferret, Weaselette, or Mione.

Rating range: Any

Bonus points: A vampire reference. NO BtVS crossover or Remix/Alternate Universe.


End file.
